


Nothing

by ellemo (kanetrain)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24334834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanetrain/pseuds/ellemo
Summary: Draco and Hermione; hormones start it, feelings keep it going and love conquers all. Featuring canon-compliant deleted scenes and Draco's second love: Green Apples. Warning: Contains Tropes.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure unadulterated Dramione.  
> Thanks to SilverShroud for the challenge and helping me out in a few tricky spots (including the summary)

An elbow gently poked Hermione in the ribs and her chin slipped off her hand.

“What?’ she asked irritably.

“Class is over,” Harry murmured, closing his Defence Against the Dark Arts for Beginners Book and stuffed it in his bag, to join the exodus leaving Dolores Umbridge’s class room.

“Oh, right,” Hermione said. She didn’t need to pack away her books, as she had0 already read the assigned chapter for the day and had spent the last 40 minutes daydreaming. Originally during these classes, she would reread the chapter the rest of the class were supposed to be learning, or go through the bits of the book she disagreed with so she could find fault with Umbridge’s teachings. Lately she had found her mind drifting away in these useless Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons.

“What were you thinking of?” Harry asked as they walked out of door and turned down the hallway to make their way up to Gryffindor Tower.

“Oh nothing,” Hermione said, nonchalantly as Ron appeared on Hermione’s other side.

“What’s nothing?” he asked, not wanting to be left out of the conversation.

“Hermione’s been slacking off in class,” Harry said across her.

“Impossible. Next you’ll be saying a Muggleborn got sorted it into Slytherin,” Ron said laughing at his own joke. He snorted.

“Shut up,” Hermione said and ignored Harry and Ron’s discussion about what could possibly have distracted her away from school work. As they walked through the Entrance Hall, towards the marble staircase, Hermione caught a whiff of an enchanting aroma. She looked around to see what it could be. A mass of Slytherin students crossed the flagstones, heading towards their own staircase that led down to their dungeon dormitory.

“Ugh, Malfoy,” Ron scoffed, as a familiar shock of white-blond hair was clearly visible amongst the sea of black and green. “Is there a slimier git than him?”

“His father?” Harry offered and the three of them began the long trudge up the marble staircase to Gryffindor Tower. Hermione looked back over her shoulder, still wondering where that scent was coming from. Her eyes found Draco, who was looking up at her. She blinked and quickly turned away, forgetting about the trick step she was about to put her foot on to. Harry and Ron each grabbed an elbow and lifted her out of danger. She squeaked in surprise, but thanked them for not allowing her to become stuck in the middle of the staircase with the Slytherins looking on.

“You are distracted, aren’t you?” Ron observed. They had made it to the third floor, four more flights to go.

“Yeah, I guess so. It’s just so frustrating about Defence Against the Dark Arts. I’m going to fail if that toad keeps teaching us nothing,” Hermione complained. “We need to do something.”

“Yeah but what?” Ron asked.

Hermione shrugged, not really wanting to get into this right now. She was curious about the strange but alluring scent, of which lingering notes were still permeating her nostrils.

Finally reaching Gryffindor Tower, Harry confidently announced the password and the three scrambled in through the portrait hole. The same scent Hermione had smelled down in the Entrance Hall hit her full force, along with the smell of new parchment and mown grass. She sniffed the air.

“You smell that too?” Harry asked, who put his nose up and took a few big whiffs, trying to find the source. Ron did the same.

“Did Fred and George steal bacon sandwiches from the Kitchens?” Ron asked enthusiastically and his stomach rumbled in anticipation.

“What are you talking about? All I can smell is Treacle Tart,” Harry countered and walked over to where the large overstuffed chairs were sitting in front of the fire place. There he spotted Katie Bell on the floor, legs crossed, her wand pointed at the hearth rug. She seemed annoyed at something,

“What’s up?” Harry asked.

Katie looked up and sighed. “Oh I got given a stupid love potion and I dropped the stupid package and it smashed. Now I’m trying to siphon it up, but the stupid spell isn’t working.”

“Let me help,” Hermione said and got down on the floor beside Katie. It all made sense now, this was the source of the scent, the parchment and grass and the third smell she couldn’t quite describe, but it was complex but bewitching.

“Thanks, Hermione,” Katie said with a sigh. “As much as I like peppermint, I don’t want to smell it all evening.”

Hermione had forgotten all about the enticing scent until it appeared again in Potions class. Sitting with Harry and Ron as usual, Hermione whipped her head around when the smell floated past her, masking the usual noxious smells of the dungeon classroom. She couldn’t see what the scent could have belonged to. Subtly she leaned over and sniffed at Ron. There was a distinct smell of soap, but not the captivating scent that had ensnared her senses.

“What are you doing?” Ron asked, but there wasn’t time to get an answer as Snape called them to order.

Twenty minutes later they were standing at their cauldrons, mixing up Befuddlement Draughts. In middle of adding the Lovage to her bubbling brew, Hermione caught that seductive aroma once more. She turned to see Draco standing behind her. She jumped in surprise and aimed her wand at him.

“What are you doing?” she asked suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Draco replied with a smirk.

“Yeah right,” Hermione sneered. “Go away and leave me alone.”

“Can’t a bloke just walk past anymore?” Draco quipped and with a handful of Sneezewort went on his way back to his work bench. Annoyed, Hermione turned back to her cauldron, the beautiful fragrance had gone, to be replaced by the smell of Lovage mixing with Scurvy Grass. She cursed Draco under her breath that he made her miss her chance to investigate its source.

By the end of the class, Ron’s potion was a gurgling mess, Harry’s was bright orange, but Hermione’s was the perfect shade of dark green. They each bottled a flask and gave it Snape for marking. He sniffed his usual sniff of derision when Hermione handed him her perfect draught.

They all left the classroom together and once more began the long trip up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, until they reached the First Floor and Hermione broke away to go to the Library.

“Where are you going?” Ron asked when she didn’t begin the next flight with him and Harry.

“Library,” Hermione answered. Ron shrugged indifferently and continued up to the Seventh Floor with Harry.

The library was usually quiet at this time of day. None except for the truly dedicated students came here straight after classes had ended for the day. Most wanted to relax in their common rooms before they started on any homework.

Hermione always liked to sit at the tables near the windows that looked out over the Lake. She opened her Potions book, but didn’t actually read anything. She got distracted once more by that fragrance. Allowing herself to breath it in, she discovered without the more recognisable smell of parchment and grass, she was able to discern different notes. Initially there was a fruity sweetness, blackcurrant and apple; then it faded to something woody like birch and finally there was a lingering earthy scent of moss and musk. It reminded her of an expensive men’s cologne.

A noise took her out of her daydream and she looked over to the book stacks. Shelves and shelves of books in front of her and between the shelves there was a glimpse of white. She squinted and looked again. It was Draco.

“Malfoy, again!” she muttered and stormed over to him, with hands on her hips in the angry teapot pose.

“What do you want, Granger?” Draco sneered.

“Are you following me now?” she demanded.

“Why would I do that? I’m getting a book,” he replied, holding up a copy of _Toadstool Tales._

“I didn’t know you were such a fan of Beatrix Bloxam,” Hermione mocked. Draco looked at the book in his hand.

“Yep,” he replied, a pink tinge appeared on his cheeks. Without another word he left. Happy to be shot of him, Hermione went back to her table and to her daydreaming. And once again, thanks to Draco, the delicious aroma had gone.

“No,” she said to herself, as the penny dropped. She looked back at the shelving and where Draco had been standing. “Oh my god, no!”

Picking up her book and bag, she hurried out of the library. As she exited, she slammed right into someone. Someone who smelled of blackcurrants and apple. Hermione landed on top of Draco with a grunt. In desperation, she tried to get off him and only managed to tangle their robes together.

“What is your problem?” Draco exclaimed and went to push her off him, but got the Slytherin ring he wore on his little finger caught in her bushy hair.

“Ouch! Stop, stop!” Hermione growled and grabbed his hand, “Stop moving, something’s caught.”

Grimacing, she carefully tried to extract his hand from her hair. Soon she became preoccupied and she closed her eyes as that irresistible aura wound its way through her.

“Granger?”

“Hmm?”

“My hand,” Draco said and Hermione suddenly released she still had a hold of it. Paying more attention, she tried again to free Draco’s hand, pulling out a few strands of her hair in her efforts. Hermione looked at him, her lips parted as she breathed him in. Those grey eyes were looking right back at her. Finally coming to her senses, Hermione managed to untangle their robes and she stood up quickly, moving a few paces back. Draco got to his feet and brushed the dirt off his robes. Distractedly she watched him, lost in the enchanting scent that he seemed to radiate.

Standing up to his full height, Draco looked at her. Their eyes met again and Hermione felt her heart thump in her chest to echo a sudden pleasurable low-down tickle.

“You smell so good,” she breathed out and without any further thought, she pushed him up against the corridor wall and pressed her lips to his. There was only a momentary resistance to her kiss, and then Draco was kissing her back, hard and passionate. He pulled her closer and she clutched at his robes. Hermione’s hand found its way into Draco’s hair. It was soft and smooth, and felt like the most expensive silk between her fingertips. Their tongues tangled together, she moaned at the taste that so perfectly complemented the aroma suffusing her nostrils. Deeply she breathed him in.

Managing to pull away from his tantalising lips, Hermione exhaled heavily. Draco was breathing just as hard. She looked into his eyes again, the grey had diminished to allow for large pupils. He smiled. Hermione blinked. It was the first true smile she’d ever see him give. It softened his face, eliminating the sneer that was its usual fixture. The back of his fingers ran down her cheek and she nuzzled against them with her eyes closed. He cupped her face and unable to resist they kissed again.

“I have to go,” Hermione managed to say in between kisses. Eventually she pulled away again, and touched his reddened lips. Picking up her bag from the floor, she turned and ran away, leaving a thoroughly bewitched and bewildered Draco alone in the corridor.

For the rest of the week Hermione managed to avoid Draco. Gryffindor didn’t have any further shared classes with Slytherin and she didn’t even go to the Library, which Ron noted as the first time in forever.

“The books must be missing you,” he quipped and Hermione gave him a death stare.

Over the weekend she didn’t even leave the Gryffindor Tower to enjoy the last of the autumn sunshine. Any quiet moment she had her mind unhelpfully piped up to remind her that she had kissed Draco Malfoy. Mortified, soon her self-admonition of her appalling judgement turned to desire when unbidden thoughts surfaced of the soft feel of his skin and hair underneath her fingertips; the delightful taste of his lips against hers and his captivating scent.

Monday morning, after a bone-crushingly boring History of Magic class, even By Hermione’s standard, her eyes must have glazed over as Harry poked her hard in the ribs.

“What?” Hermione asked irritably, rubbing at her side.

“We have Potions now,” he said, gesturing at the loud scrape of chairs and the collective sigh of relief that Hermione seemed not to have heard.

Potions. Slytherins. Malfoy.

“Right,” Hermione said, trying to keep the panicky squeak out of her voice. As they Gryffindors descended into the Potions corridor, Hermione caught a trace of that glorious smell. She sighed softly. The Slytherins were already seated in the classroom and Hermione scrambled to find the seat furthest away from Draco. In all his biased grandeur, Snape rebuked the Gryffindors for being late, even though the bell for the start of class hadn’t sounded. Hermione buried her face in her Potions book and listened to Snape as he went through the unacceptable standards that the previous lesson had put up and for punishment they were to brew the Befuddlement Draughts again.

Quickly Hermione got to work and set up her cauldron. Ron peered over to her every now and then to see what she was doing so he could copy. She was too preoccupied by not lifting her head, that she didn’t notice Ron’s blatant cheating to tell him off.

“Hermione? Do you have any Lovage?” Harry asked. “I’m all out.” Hermione looked up at the mention of her name and caught Draco’s eye from across the room. With a squeak, she turned away and knocked over Harry’s cauldron in the process, spilling the contents over the work bench. The Slytherins clapped and jeered at her clumsiness. Her cheeks went bright red, and using the siphoning spell, she cleaned up the mess. Snape wandered around the classroom and raised an eyebrow, obviously annoyed that she had done a good job of cleaning up so he couldn’t reprimand her.

“Sorry!” she apologised hastily to Harry and pushed all her ingredients over to him.

“Okay, something is up with you,” Harry said, beginning his potion again. “You have been weirder than normal, you’re all jumpy and you were basically a hermit all weekend.”

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” she replied in a much higher voice than normal and hazarded a glance in Draco’s direction. He was working on his potion, as if though he could feel her gaze on him, he looked up and quirked the corner into a small smile.

It wasn’t right. Hermione should not be having desirous thoughts about Draco Malfoy. It was against all laws of man and nature. A sudden thought came to her. She frowned angrily and scrawled a note to him. She needed to get to the bottom of this. Under the pretence of getting more supplies from the store cupboard, she dropped the request to meet her in the Library after classes today into Draco’s bag.

And like most occasions when you’re anticipating something, the rest of the school day crawled. The fifth year free period after lunch, for those Gryffindors not studying Muggle Studies, was interminable. With no homework to keep her mind occupied as she had finished it all, Hermione’s thoughts kept returning to the kiss.

Double Defence Against the Dark Arts almost had Hermione pulling out her hair. Bored beyond comprehension, she sat doodling with a quill on a scrap of parchment. After twenty minutes she looked down to what her mental meanderings had drawn and was horrified to see a large letter D embellished with hearts and little birds. Quickly she screwed up the parchment and stuffed it into her robe pocket, making a mental note to burn it when she had the chance.

Finally the bell sounded and she collected her bag – she hadn’t even bothered to get the DADA textbook out – and told Harry she was going to the Library as she ran out the door. Down to the First Floor, Hermione scattered a bunch of Ravenclaws on their way up to their dormitory tower.

As usual the Library was quiet at this time of day and Hermione walked down towards her regular desk, but was accosted by an arm coming out from the book stacks and drawing her into a private corner.

“Can’t get enough of me, eh Granger?” Draco murmured, pulling her back hard up against him. She squirmed against him, making him inadvertently moan softly against her ear.

“No,” Hermione exclaimed in a whisper so she wouldn’t be heard by the insanely nosy Madam Pince. “No, I mean, I yes. No, that’s not why I wanted to see you.” One of his hands roamed down over her stomach. Biting her lip she arched back against him, putting her hand over his and guiding it down towards her thigh. The enthralling aroma of blackcurrants and apple filled her senses and she closed her eyes, losing herself to the soft kisses playing along her neck.

“No,” she moaned, trying to pull herself out of the enchantment. Wrenching herself away from his touch, Hermione backed away and turned to face him, her head still hazy with longing. She held up an accusatory finger, waggling at him. “You put the whammy on me.”

“What are you talking about?” Draco said in his lazy drawl.

“A love potion! You must have slipped me a love potion,” Hermione said. It was taking all her mental strength to stop her mind wandering to more pleasurable activities.

“Why would I? And when would I have done it?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, keeping her voice to a harsh whisper. “Why else would I be acting this way?”

“There might be another reason,” Draco murmured and took a step towards her. He reached out to take her hand in his. “Maybe you like me.”

Hermione didn’t resist when he took her hand. “But I can’t like you,” she said miserably. “I’m an intelligent girl and you’ve been nothing but horrible to me, since First Year.”

“Maybe I was jealous, seeing you with Potter and Weasley all the time,” he whispered. His low husky voice caused a shiver to go down her spine and her resolve was quickly melting. Without realising what she was doing, she stepped closer to him, turning her face up towards his.

“I can’t,” she murmured, their lips were so close and his breath was warm against her face, she could almost taste him. Her hand made its way into his silken platinum hair. She stroked it and it played through her fingers like water. And that seductive scent, it was too much. Her senses were in overload. Everything about him was killing every rational thought she had in her head. Unable to resist any longer, Hermione surrendered to her desire, and their mouths came together in a deep kiss.

It was more than a simple teenage crush, Hermione’s head was so full of Draco, she wanted to feel every inch of his naked skin against hers; to lick him all over; to bite him; to devour him; make him hers and only hers. The kiss grew and their tongues wrestled for dominance. Her hands gripped at his robes as he pulled her closer. She arched towards him, moaning against his lips, pressed him back against one the bookshelves. Almost a whole shelf of books crashed down to the floor. They sprang apart, panting, worried Madam Pince was about to descend upon them for the abuse of books lying on the floor.

Before they were spotted, Hermione got down on her knees to gather up the books. Draco joined her and grabbed the couple that had spilled out into the main aisle. As expected Madam Pince hove into view.

“What are you two doing?” she demanded, her face contorted with rage for the mistreatment of her precious books.

“They fell,” Hermione answered, hiding her flushed face. “We’ll put them back. Sorry.”

“Be careful with them. You’ve probably already damaged them,” Madam Pince accused and stormed back to her desk.

“Stupid old hag,” Draco muttered and went to stand up to put the books in his hand back on their correct shelf, but for Hermione those few minutes not kissing Draco was far too long. She grabbed the front of his robes and pulled him back down to her.

Smiling, Draco gladly took Hermione’s invitation for more kissing and moved down to press his lips to hers.

“You’re quite fierce, aren’t you?” he said playfully as their kiss broke apart once more. He sat with his back against the lower cupboards of the bookcases, moving into a more comfortable position on the floor. Hermione shuffled over to lean against him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Sorry about that,” she said, but didn’t really mean it. She’d been called bossy her whole life, but she took it as being confident and knowing what she wanted.

“No, I like it,” Draco confessed and put his arm around her shoulders. Hermione reached over and took his other hand in hers and played her fingers over the cold silver of the Slytherin ring that adorned his hand.

“This isn’t right,” she murmured, interlocking their fingers, “I shouldn’t be having these feelings, and you definitely shouldn’t be.”

He kissed the top of her hair and murmured, “You’re worth it.”

Hermione felt a hot blush spread across her cheeks. “No one’s going to understand. I don’t even understand. Harry and Ron are going to hate me.”

“Don’t worry about those losers,” Draco said before he could stop himself.

“See? This is why no one likes you,” Hermione replied in jest, then continued in a softer voice. “They’re my only friends.” He gently squeezed her hand.

“Least you have friends,” he said quietly. “I have hangers-on.” Hermione heard real sadness in his voice. She angled her head to look at him, his grey eyes were looking straight ahead as though he was lost in his thoughts. She leaned up and kissed his cheek and saw that little pink tinge that coloured his skin whenever he was embarrassed.

“It could be our little secret,” Draco offered. “You don’t want to tell your friends; I can’t tell my family.”

“Doesn’t that tell you something?” Hermione countered.

“Yet you’re still here,” Draco said simply.

“Shut up,” she said, smiling and cuddled back in against his chest. She liked being here. She liked being in his arms. She liked the way his hand held onto hers. She liked the way he kissed. She liked the way his scent drove her crazy with desire. She liked the way that made her feel. She liked Draco Malfoy.

Their future encounters were limited to stolen moments in the Library, which didn’t raise much suspicion from Ron or Harry as they were used to Hermione disappearing off to the Library for hours at a time, and a few discreet meetings in some of the more secret places in the castle. And while they were finding quiet spots to be alone, the world kept turning around them. The worst of it came after a Gryffindor and Slytherin match where Harry had given Draco a black eye and a bloody nose.

“You brought it on yourself,” Hermione said firmly when Draco had met her in the Room of Requirement. Hermione had thought that this little miracle of the castle would give them a very private hiding spot. On their first visit, they had held hands and walked back and forth, both reciting silently, “We need a place to hide, that no one will be able to find. Just for the two of us.” The Room obliged superbly. It had created something akin to a small apartment. With chairs and a bed and even a bookcase full of books even Hermione hadn’t read.

Draco sat down in one of the chairs wincing and holding his stomach. “I know,” he said, “I couldn’t stop myself. I see Potter and Weasley and they make me so angry.”

“Especially when they’re beating you at Quidditch,” Hermione said. This particular incarnation of their private hideaway had produced a sink with hot and cold running water, facecloths and towels. Gently Hermione pressed a cold compress to Draco’s eye. He breathed in sharply through his teeth. But not caring about any further pain, Draco pulled Hermione down to sit on his lap. “You need to stop being so horrible to them.”

“Easy for you to say,” Draco replied and laced their fingers together. “I don’t like them and they bring out the worst in me.”

“And letting Harry beat you half to death is your punishment?” Hermione asked, “You really have a death wish, don’t you?”

“You’ve no idea,” Draco muttered.

“Then tell me,” Hermione said. She set the cold compress to rest against his bruised jaw and gently kissed the other side of his face. He turned his face to capture her lips with his.

“I’d rather kiss you,” he smiled and Hermione didn’t resist. She wrapped her arms around his neck and sunk into his tentative, soft kisses, due to his bruised face. He lightly stroked her hair. She had pulled it back into a loose braid, to keep its bushiness contained.

“Just promise me you’ll try and be nicer to them?” Hermione asked, fluttering her eyes open when she pulled back from the kiss. Draco pouted and caused himself to wince.

“Idiot,” she smiled, “And while we’re on the subject of idiots, the Inquisitorial Squad?” She tapped the “I” badge that was pinned to the front of his robes.

“What about it?” Draco asked.

“They’re terrorising the younger kids, not to mention everyone who isn’t in Slytherin,” Hermione said.

“I can’t control everyone on the Squad,” he said, looking away from her. “But you know why I need to be a part of it right?”

“Your father. Yes, I know. To get in the Ministry’s good books. Why do you even care? You should join us in the DA,” Hermione suggested.

“And get beaten up by my father too? No thanks. I’d be disowned if he knew I talk to you, let alone what we actually do,” Draco said with a smirk, his white-blond eyebrows dancing up his forehead.

“Put those eyebrows down,” Hermione said with a smile, using a finger to gently push one of them down. The other popped back up, making her giggle. “Stop that, we’re having a serious discussion here.”

Draco let out a soft sigh. “I don’t want to have a discussion. I want us to go over to the bed and forget about the world.”

Carefully, Hermione got off Draco’s lap and held out her to hand to him, to help him up out of the chair. Biting her lip, she led him over to the bed and sat down, drawing him down with her.

It wasn’t until after Christmas that Hermione got to properly talk to Draco again. During their first Care of Magical Creatures class for the new term, Hermione brushed her hand against his, giving him a note to meet her in their special room at the end of the school day.

Draco arrived at the Room of Requirement only moments after Hermione. Barely letting him close the door first, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

“I’ve missed you,” she said softly against his lips. Draco ran his finger through a loose strand of her curly hair.

“I’ve missed you too,” he said and took her hand, “But I think we need to talk.” He went to lead her over to the comfortable chair. She let her arm stretch out as she hadn’t moved. Those words never boded well when anyone said them.

“You don’t want to do this anymore. You don’t want to be with me,” she said, it wasn’t a question and she was annoyed with herself that she started to feel the hot prickle of tears in her eyes.

“No, no, it’s not that,” he replied quickly. To reassure her, he turned back to take her other hand in his as well. “You know I want this, _you_. This is about something else. Come and sit down with me.”

Draco took a seat in the chair and Hermione sat sideways on his lap. “What’s going on?”

He looked at her, and held her hand tightly. There was a trace of trepidation in his grey eyes. “I know a lot of people don’t believe Potter when he says that the Dark Lord has returned,” he began, but he didn’t need to finish as Hermione jumped in.

“You’ve seen him too, haven’t you?” she asked and Draco nodded.

“Oh Merlin,” she breathed out, “Your father really is a Death Eater.” And once again he nodded, looking more scared than she had ever seen him before. His anxiety seemed to be contagious as her own fear fluttered through her.

“You can’t tell anyone. I’m worried,” Draco said in a soft voice. He reached up and cupped her face. “I’m worried what will happen to you.”

“Why me? He’s not after me.”

Draco dropped his eyes to look anywhere but into her deep brown eyes. Hermione gently stroked the back of her fingers over his soft white-blond hair.

“What do you know?”

Draco shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t say.” He sighed and drew her closer. “I just want to hold you and keep you safe.”

“Draco, I’m right here. Nothing’s going to happen to me,” Hermione whispered and gently pressed her lips to his. They kissed softly and slowly it grew more passionate, with the suggestion of danger in the air. All through Christmas Hermione had been thinking about Draco. Skiing with her parents hadn’t worked out, mainly because her thoughts kept wandering to her blondie bear instead of concentrating at the task at hand. Grimmauld Place had been solemn and awkward when she had first arrived. Even though she was glad Mr Weasley was alive and well, she had been looking forward to coming back to Hogwarts; to her Draco. There was an element of excitement in keeping their relationship secret, and she enjoyed that aspect perhaps more than she should. She wasn’t ashamed of her feelings for him, but Harry and Ron would never understand. How could they? They only saw the surface and not what was buried deep. Not that Draco helped his case. He couldn’t resist needling her Gryffindor friends, putting them more and more offside. Sometimes she just wanted to shake some sense into him, then her attraction to him took over her own senses and they just ended up kissing and kissing sometimes led to something more intimate.

“I should get back. They’ll be wondering where I am. And we need this room for the DA,” Hermione said, pushing herself up off his lap. Draco wrapped his arms around her.

“Can’t we stay here? Just for a little longer,” he murmured. Hermione relented and pecked his lips.

“Ten minutes,” she said and curled up. He rested his cheek against the top of head and stroked her arm. She could feel the nerves coursing through his body. Sitting in the overstuffed armchair, he may have appeared calm, but on the inside he was a fluttering mess. Slipping an arm around him, she held him close.

***

“What is this?” Draco demanded, holding up a copy of the Quibbler. He had followed Hermione into the Library and confronted her. There was photo of Harry on the cover with the promise of an interview, revealing all he saw on the night the Dark Lord was resurrected. He slapped the magazine down on the desk she was sitting at.

“Something the Umbridge has banned,” Hermione said, an air of smugness in her voice. “You shouldn’t have that.”

“Do you know what Potter said about my father?” he demanded. His pale face was quickly turning a deep shade of pink.

“Nothing you hadn’t already told me.”

“That was in confidence. Now the whole world knows.” His voice was obviously getting too loud for Madam Pince’s liking as the stern librarian poked her head around the nearest shelving stack and hushed them loudly. They looked at her and she frowned at them, making sure they weren’t going to make any further racket.

Once Madam Pince was assured they were going to remain quiet in her precious library and headed back to her desk, Draco sat down opposite Hermione.

“I don’t see the problem. It’s not like it wasn’t already a rumour,” Hermione said, “Besides, people need to know You -Know Who is back. Now that Umbridge has banned it, everyone will read it. They’ll know the Ministry has something to hide.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Draco countered, leaning forward, keeping his voice low, “This affects my family, our standing in society. The Ministry will want nothing to do with us now.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Why do you care about that? Fudge is categorically denying that You-Know-Who has returned, he’s ignoring evidence, using his influence at the Prophet to tell the world there’s nothing to worry about. Not to mention Ms Toad of Toad Hall who is deliberately not teaching us Defence because of some paranoid rumour that Dumbledore wants to overthrow the Minister.”

“You don’t want to get Umbridge offside,” Draco said, he reached across the desk and touched the back of Hermione’s hand. “You know what she’s like and what she can do. You keep pushing, she’ll push back harder with the Ministry behind her.”

“All the more reason…” Hermione started but Draco squeezed her hand.

“You get rid of her from here, she’ll just go back to the Ministry and she can do a lot more damage there. Let her run her little fiefdom here.”

Hermione frowned at him, not quite believing what she was hearing. “It’s okay for you. You’re the poster boy for the Purebloods. If we don’t fight back, I just end up on the bottom of the pile,” Hermione argued.

Draco let out a soft sigh and lifted his hand to stroke her face. “I wouldn’t let that happen to you. But if you keep fighting the system, I won’t be able to protect you.”

She put her hand over his. “I don’t need you to protect me.”

“I want to,” Draco replied.

“Then help us. It’s not just me, there are Muggleborns throughout this world who will be persecuted, hunted down just because of their blood. You can’t honestly believe there is a difference in magical ability between you and me, just because my parents aren’t a witch and wizard.”

“You know it’s not about that. It’s purity, exclusivity.”

“But why? Why dilute the Magical ability by keeping idiots such as Crabbe and Goyle, but excluding me just because of blood? Logically, it makes no sense, regardless of the moral implications. You know how inbred and insane those ancient wizarding families are.” Hermione suddenly stopped talking as she saw the deep scowl appear on Draco’s face. She had just insulted him and his family. She knew aside from the obvious Malfoy blood, his veins ran with ancient pure Black blood as well.

Draco blinked away his sudden displeasure and looked at her, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. “The Malfoys,” he began hesitantly as though not sure he should confide this particular secret of his. “It’s not widely known, the Half-Bloods are concealed on that side of the family tree.”

“So you understand,” Hermione said with relief, “They understood the Wizarding World can’t survive with just the Purebloods,” then she gently added, “You need to stop being Umbridge’s lapdog.”

“And I keep telling you I can’t.” He stood up and started to walk away. Hermione hurried to follow him and pulled him out of the aisle into an empty row of shelving. She put her hands on his face and leaned up to kiss him.

“Please, join us. I worry for you too, you know. You don’t have to do everything your father tells you to,” she said softly. His arms snaked around her and he leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers.

“You’re not Lucius Malfoy’s son. You’re new to this world, you don’t understand our ways,” Draco said and wished he hadn’t. Hermione took a hold of his arms and drew them away from her. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, you did,” she said. “I don’t even know why I’m here. I clearly have some sort of brain impairment thinking we could ever work. We’re far too different.”

“You’re right, I did mean it. You don’t know what it’s like to be a Malfoy. A dynasty of over a thousand years. You don’t have that kind of baggage. Do you know how hard it is to shed that? To realise you’re in love with someone that your whole family hates and wants to abolish.” Draco stopped talking his face turning pink again, this time in embarrassment.

“You’re in love with me?” Hermione asked softly. In the months they had been sneaking around, she had talked herself into believing that what they had was just lust-fuelled, the attraction of the forbidden; teenage hormones. Never had she entertained it was something more serious.

“Of course I’m in love with you,” he replied, stroking a hand over her hair. “How could I not be? You’re beautiful and intelligent. And that’s why I’m so angry at you, that you’re going along a path that will get you hurt, or killed.”

“You just said it, your family wants to get rid of me and my kind. I have to fight because either way I’m dead.”

“Don’t say that. We can hide you, fake your family tree,” Draco offered, but Hermione shook her head.

“And you know I can’t do that. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I lied about where I came from.” Unable to stop herself, Hermione kissed him again, wrapping her arms around him. “I love you too. I try not to but I can’t stop. I know we’re so wrong, but I want it, I want you.”

They kissed again, Draco slid his arms back around her to hold her close. He hugged her tight. “One thing, if something happens and you want to go to the Ministry, don’t.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I have a bad feeling.”

***

Unable to sleep, Hermione sat up into the early hours reading by the light of her wand. The pain in her side had been slowly receding, but it still wasn’t comfortable so she took naps either day or night, depending on whenever the pain dulled enough to be able to relax. The hospital ward was quiet. Ron was sleeping in the next bed and the sounds of his snores were comforting. However, she’d drawn the privacy screen between their beds, so her reading light wouldn’t disturb his sleep.

“I told you not to go to the Ministry,” came a soft voice by the door of the hospital wing. Hermione looked up. In the shadows she could make out the familiar white-blond hair. Draco was leaning against the open door. Hesitantly he came into the ward to sit by her bed and bashfully put a green apple down on her bedside table. “I didn’t know what to get you. Flowers die too quickly.”

“Thanks,” Hermione said, “You didn’t have to get me anything.” She put her book down and took Draco’s hand in hers. She looked up at him, and couldn’t help the accusation that quickly passed her lips. “Did you know?”

He shook his head and dropped his eyes to their entwined fingers. “No,” he murmured. “Not exactly. I overheard Aunt Bellatrix telling Kreacher something. I didn’t know what it was, except that it was something at the Ministry.”

“I kept telling Harry it wasn’t right,” Hermione said, shaking her head, and sucking in a painful breath.

He reached over and stroked a piece of hair from her face. “Are you okay? I’ve been wanting to visit. I thought it was best to stay out of the way. You know, because of Father; what happened.”

Ron’s snores stopped for a moment and they froze. Hermione put her finger to her lips to tell Draco to keep quiet. The bed behind the curtain squeaked as Ron turned over and the snores resumed again. Hermione waited to see if they were fake or not. When she was confident they weren’t, she murmured, “You’re not your father.”

“He almost killed you,” Draco whispered hoarsely as though the very thought pained him greatly.

With a slight grimace, Hermione sat up straighter and leaned closer to Draco. “It wasn’t Lucius who got me with that curse,” she assured him. 

“It could have been. If I’d lost you…” Draco rested his other hand against Hermione’s cheek.

“I’m here. I’m right here,” she said and squeezed his hand. They say together, silently, listening to each other’s breathing, interspersed with the sound of Ron’s nearby snores. “It was a disaster anyway. We shouldn’t have gone.”

“Did you hear what was in the Prophecy before it smashed?” Draco asked conversationally. Suspicious, Hermione pulled away from resting her head against Draco’s.

“Why?” she asked and there was a sudden chill in her heart. She hadn’t heard anything beyond what was already known that Harry was the one prophesised to vanquish the Dark Lord. 

He realised his mistake. “No, no. Don’t tell me. I was merely curious. Cross my heart.” And he placed his hand against his chest. She leaned in against him again, breathing in his calming scent. She’d come to recognise it with warmthe and happiness.

“We can make this work, can’t we?” she asked hopefully, knowing they were close to summer holidays and the unknown it held.

“We can,” Draco murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

A few days later, the Hogwarts Express train compartment was loud and exuberant on the way back to King’s Cross. Harry did his best to join in, for the most part he sat quietly looking out the window. No one disturbed him yet they welcomed him warmly when eventually he decided he wanted to join in on the Weasleys’ game of Exploding Snap. Although not feeling as bad as Harry, a knot grew in Hermione’s stomach every time her eyes drifted to the three oozing slug-like creatures stuffed up on the overhead compartment. The DA members had fired a multitude of hexes at Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle and those slugs were what were left of their transfigured forms.

The train slowed down once it hit the London outskirts. Fred, George and Ginny had migrated back to their original compartments to collect their trunks, while Neville had offered to help Luna with hers. Alone with Harry and Ron, Hermione voiced her concern.

“Maybe we should unjinx them? We don’t want to get into trouble,” she said, pointing up at the luggage rack. The three boys were squirming and writhing, making horrible squelching noises.

“I don’t really care,” Ron shrugged and offered Harry his last chocolate frog, who had moved back to the seat nearest the window and was watching the houses become denser. Ron pulled all three trunks down when the train pulled up to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

“Come on Hermione. Forget about them. Someone will find them,” Ron said as he and Harry pulled their trunks out into the corridor, following the student population off the Hogwarts Express.

“I’ll catch up,” she called and drew the blinds in the compartment. The boys didn’t hear her and continued their way onto the platform.

“ _Finite Incantatem_ ,” she cast, aiming her wand up at the slug she assumed was Draco, by the remnants of white-blond hair she could see. Emerging from the muddle of jinxes and spells that the other had cast upon him, Draco appeared scared and shaking, much like when he had returned from being transfigured into a ferret.

“Are you okay?” she asked, hold her hand up for him to take and get down from the luggage rack. He jumped down, his knees almost buckling under him as he landed.

“You know, if I did that, I’d be pilloried and flayed alive,” he said, a scowl forming on his face. “But Saint Potter and his disciples can do no wrong.”

“It would be best if you stayed away from Harry,” Hermione suggested, pocketing her wand. Draco adjusted his robes, brushing out the creases.

“Oh really? Thanks for that,” he replied sarcastically and checked his pocket for his wand. He saw the hurt on her face and took her hand and said softly, “Look, I’m sorry. I wish you didn’t hang out with them. They don’t appreciate you.” And he pressed his lips to her forehead.

Hermione glanced up at the remaining slugs on the luggage rack. “And I wish you didn’t hang out with those two.” She turned her gaze to him, held both his hands and squeezed firmly. “Seriously Draco. Leave it behind and join us,” she implored.

“What about Potty and the Weasel?” he asked unkindly, “They’re not going to want me around.”

“They’ll accept you if you stop hounding them. Ron’s as pure-blood as you are. So is Neville. It’s nothing to do with blood, you know that. It’s just an excuse for oppression.”

For a moment, it appeared he was considering her proposal. He brought her hands up to his mouth and kissed them gently.

“You should go. Your parents will be waiting for you,” he said, “I can unjinx those two.” He nodded up towards the luggage rack. But Hermione didn’t let go of Draco’s hands. A sudden feeling a dread came over her, that this might be the last time they would see each other. Now that Lucius was in Azkaban, Draco had lost the protection of his father. She rose up on her toes and kissed him firmly. A little too enthusiastic, Draco took a step backwards and unexpectedly sat down on the compartment seat his foot had bumped up against. Without thinking, Hermione straddled his lap and resumed the passionate kiss. Now they had arrived at the end of the year, with the prospect of weeks apart Hermione didn’t want to let him go. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her higher onto his lap.

Finally their kiss broke when Hermione knew they couldn’t let it go any further. Panting softly, with their foreheads still pressed together, she murmured, “Promise you’ll write to me.”

“Every day,” he whispered and gave her one last chaste kiss, before she reluctantly stood up to leave. Their fingertips fell away from each other. Hermione picked up the end of her trunk and left the train compartment. She couldn’t bear to say goodbye to him.

The platform was crowded and Hermione spotted her parents talking to Mr and Mrs Weasley. Even after five years of knowing about the wizarding world, her dad still looked a little awkward and out of place when talking to witches and wizard, no matter how kind they were. She hurried over to greet them with tight hugs, while Mr Weasley greeted Ron and Harry. Incapable of resisting, Hermione looked back over to the hidden barrier in the hope of seeing Draco and saw him exiting with Crabbe and Goyle. Their eyes met and they stared at each other until Draco’s mother came into view, taking his attention away. Narcissa Malfoy hugged her son, there was a very visible look of relief on her face.

“Who was that boy?” Hermione’s mother asked as they walked to the car park. Her father was walking behind them with the trolley laden with Hermione’s trunk and Crookshanks’s cage on top. The cat was meowing, clearly not happy to be cooped up in such a confined space. 

“Harry?’ Hermione asked uncertainly. “You know Harry.”

“Nooo, not Harry.”

“Ron?” she offered instead.

“Not Ron. That blond boy I saw you staring at,” Mrs Granger said and smiled, “He was a bit cute. Very well dressed. Is there something…?”

Hermione’s face went pink and she tried to hide her embarrassment. If her mother had noticed her attraction to Draco after only five minutes, was it possible that the rest of the school knew?

“No, nothing,” Hermione squeaked and silently thanked Merlin that her mother didn’t seem to remember the pale boy and his father who had confronted them all those years ago, during the Gilderoy Lockhart book signing at Flourish and Blotts, who had disparaged the blood traitor Weasleys for keeping company with lowly Muggles.


	2. Chapter 2

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you.”

Draco spun round guiltily at the sound of her voice, his expression quickly smoothing itself into his habitual sneering disregard. “What do you want, Granger?” he said stiffly.

Hermione was so taken aback by this cold greeting that she looked around for students she hadn’t spotted. When she didn’t find any she looked up at him trying to keep the hurt puzzlement off her face and found that he wouldn’t even look at her.

“What’s going on with you?” she asked quietly. “You stopped writing, every day for three weeks and then nothing. And then I saw you on the train; you were lying in Pansy’s lap.” It was the last accusation that held the most hurt in her voice.

He didn’t say anything and instead just gave her a haughty, satisfied look that that was exactly what he wanted her to see. The hurt grew. With an effort, she pushed it down, wanting to erase the image of Draco’s soft silken hair being stroked by that horrible troll of a girl that had been burned into her mind.

Swallowing, she continued on, needing answers. “You’re going to Borgin and Burke’s, you broke Harry’s nose and he’s got some ridiculous theory that you’re a Death Eater…”

Draco interrupted angrily, “I don’t give a damn what Potter thinks. Maybe if he didn’t stick his nose in where he shouldn’t, it wouldn’t get broken.”

“There won’t be a Dark Mark there?” She made a grab for his arm and he wrenched it back, drawing his wand in the same fluid motion.

“Back off, Granger.” His voice was hard as flint and she he flinched at the sound of her surname, and the venom it contained. But even as he said it she saw the flicker of something she recognised in his eyes. She reached out slowly and sure enough, Draco let her push the wand tip down.

“What’s going on, Draco?” she asked, “You can talk to me. We can work it out, whatever it is.” For just a second he was there, her Draco, the boy she loved. He stared at her with open desperation.

“I…” he began and she took the lull in his anger to take a cautious step closer to him.

“This isn’t like you.” It was the wrong thing to say as she saw the walls slam back into place.

“This is me. I’m a Malfoy,” he sneered. “You think I could actually be seen in public with a Mudblood? You were just a bit of fun on the side.”

“You don’t mean that,” Hermione countered, searching his face for the lie. He couldn’t have faked what they had shared over the past year. He had been sweet and loving. Something must have happened to him over the summer to make him act so horribly to her.

He let out an emotionless laugh, causing a shiver to go down her spine. “Don’t you get it? I thought you were supposed to be intelligent. I don’t want anything to do with you.” He shouldered past her, out of the library stacks and into the corridor. 

Hermione stared after him and then slumped to the floor, curling up against the lower cupboards of the bookcases, amongst the remains of her shattered heart.

Potions classes were the worst, as there was only a small number of students and there was no easy way to avoid Draco. He was there, merely two tables away and even without looking at him, Hermione could feel him. This was made ten times worse by the Love Potion that was bubbling away close by. The delicious smell of blackcurrants and apple with its earthen undernotes was potently strong.

Whenever Slughorn would pass their table he wafted the Love Potion vapours towards her and she had to stop brewing her own potion, to regain her senses and clear her head of the tantalising scent. And each time it happened Hermione would look over to Draco. He was looking down, supposedly concentrating on his own potion, determined not to meet her eyes. Nor anyone else’s for that matter, as he kept his head down for almost the entire lesson. There was something going on, otherwise he wouldn’t have said all those nasty things to her and she didn’t believe Harry’s assumption that he had joined the elite of You -Know-Who. Or maybe Draco was right and she had been so stupid, blinded by her attraction to him that she didn’t see, or didn’t want to see, his perpetual cruelty to all and sundry.

When the class ended, Draco quickly escaped, leaving that desirable aroma in his wake. Hermione knew it would be a long time before she’d be able to forget what they had. She knew she had witnessed a deeper side of Draco, that wasn’t just the two-dimensional bully he paraded around the school.

What was she doing? She knew liking, _loving_ , Draco wasn’t right. She should have controlled her hormones and never got involved in the first place. What had she expected? That she could have changed him? That he would give up everything he had even known to be with her? Every night as she fell asleep, she chided herself for folly. Yet every morning she woke, her soul was alive with the memory of her nightly dream of Draco and his renewed attentions towards her. Then at breakfast her heart would break once more, for at the Slytherin Table Pansy would gleefully paw at Draco in a disgusting public display of affection.

Her efforts in trying to forget Draco wasn’t helped by Harry’s constant suspicion that Malfoy was up to something, that he was a Death Eater and that they should investigate. At least Ron was on her side and after they both dismissed Harry’s suspicions, he thankfully would give it a rest for a few days.

By December Hermione wasn’t looking at Draco in classes anymore, nor was she casually glancing across to the Slytherin Table at meals. And her vivid dreams had all but stopped. Never had she felt more alone. Everywhere she looked people were paired up. More often than not, Ron was tongue wrestling with Lavender’s in public displays of affection that were perhaps even more intolerable than Pansy and Draco. Ginny and Dean were often scurrying off to a private corner. Although not in a relationship, Harry was distant too, he either had his nose in his stupid Potions book or was off with Dumbledore.

So Hermione took to wandering the snowy grounds by herself, using the frosty air to clear her mind. The day before the train was set to leave Hogsmeade to return her to London and her parents, she sat by the frozen lake, bundled up in her cloak, thick scarf and one of her old knitted elf hats sitting jauntily on her bushy hair. The morning sun was milky and there were Christmas carols in the air. At the sound of what she thought was a crunching footfall in the snow, she turned around, but there was nothing there. For a few days now she’d thought someone had been following her. In the Library, along the Seventh-Floor corridor, waiting for her outside the girls’ bathroom. The Castle was so full of ghosts, it wouldn’t be surprising if it was Peeves just having a joke.

Draco had made an unexpected appearance at Slughorn’s Party the previous night, and the knot that had twisted her stomach told her she still wasn’t over him. He had looked so ill; his skin was paler than usual and his grey eyes were encircled with dark shadows. For the first time in months, they looked at each other, before he was unceremoniously taken away by Snape. There was fear in his eyes.

With a gloved hand, Hermione wiped away the tears that were rolling down her face.

“How is school, my dear? I barely get to see you anymore,” Hermione’s grandmother asked at Christmas lunch. Seven Grangers were seated around the dining room table enjoying the roast turkey dinner with all the trimmings. Mrs and Mrs Granger, and Hermione sat on one side; Mr Granger’s mother, his brother John and sister-in-law Ellie on the other, and their toddler son Alfie was in a high chair at the table end. All were wearing paper crowns and there was an assortment of plastic novelty toys littering the table cloth; a far cry from the awesome magical gifts that exploded from Wizard Crackers. Alfie was eating a floret of broccoli with his hands, sometimes using it as a drumstick.

“She’s top of all her classes. Straight As, and ten GCSEs,” Mrs Granger replied proudly for her daughter, putting Hermione’s Witchcraft and Wizardry education into a form that her mother-in-law could understand. When she arrive home, it had been refreshing listening to her father and uncle discuss Wimbledon’s chances at the division title, instead of the drama over Quidditch players. Nor was there stress about Harry dishonesty in Potions class; no worries about evil dark wizards coming back into power, and no Draco Malfoy. Yet there was a mundanity that Hermione wasn’t used to anymore after the excitement of Hogwarts.

“What are you doing for A-levels?” Uncle John asked while piling his plate with a second helping of roast turkey and cranberry sauce.

“Erm.” Hermione had to think quickly, working out a Muggle equivalent for her Hogwarts subjects, “Maths, Chemistry, Physics, Biology…” She paused. It was the best could come up at short notice for Arithmancy, Potions, Transfiguration and Herbology. She couldn’t find the alternate for Ancient Runes, Charms or Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Uncle John was quite impressed by her selection and he nodded with a noise of approval, as he swallowed a mouthful of turkey. Aunt Ellie was trying to get Alfie to eat, rather than play with his food, that was all over the table cloth and the floor surrounding.

“You’re so clever. Much like Robert was at your age,” her grandmother said and Mrs Granger subtly coughed to remind her mother-in-law that Hermione’s brains not only came from her father, but she also took after her mother, considering both parents had attained their Licentiates in Dentistry. Clearly used to the comparison between the brothers, Uncle John ignored the slight on his intelligence.

“I do hope you’ll follow in your parents’ footsteps and continue the family business. I’m so proud of you,” the old woman said and smiled at her granddaughter. Hermione smiled mechanically at the praise and poked at her roast potatoes.

As the conversation moved on, and the rest of the table was occupied with discussion of the Queen’s speech, Hermione excused herself from the table and took her half-eaten lunch out to the kitchen sink. She rested her hands on the bench and looked out the window to the bare garden. It wasn’t snowing here, so instead of a winter wonderland she would normally see from Gryffindor Tower, the backyard was cold and dead. It was strange being back in the Muggle world, each time she came home she felt less and less a part of it. She loved her parents more than anything and they had always so supportive, but lying to her other relatives was proving difficult. Once she graduated from Hogwarts, she was going to pursue a Wizarding career. Aunt Ellie and Uncle John wouldn’t understand that she wasn’t going to go to University to continue her Muggle education, that she wouldn’t be studying dentistry or that the rights of House-Elves were more important to her. Already she was beginning to think of them as different. They were Muggles, she was a witch. Suddenly she was understanding Draco’s point of view, about Muggles not knowing their ways.

Mrs Granger had followed her daughter out to the kitchen. She stood next to Hermione and asked in a gentle whisper, “Something’s wrong. I’ve never seen you ignore your grandmother’s roast potatoes before.”

“It’s nothing,” Hermione said, taking off the paper crown that was still sitting atop her braided hair. She wasn’t in the Christmas spirit and randomly wondered if Harry and Ron were having an enjoyable Christmas together. Lately, she’d been thinking more and more about Ron, unsure of whether she was jealous he had someone, or that Lavender was taking him away from their close-knit friendship.

“The same nothing you told me about at King’s Cross?” Mrs Granger asked intuitively. “It didn’t work out, did it?” Sometimes Hermione hated that her mother was so observant. She looked at her and then back out the window.

“It’s for the best,” she murmured, not wanting to get into the complicated situation. Mrs Granger put her arm around Hermione’s shoulder and she leaned in against her mother. “I thought he liked me, Mum. He was so horrible. The things he said.” Determined she wasn’t going to cry over him anymore, Hermione took in a slow steadying breath to calm her emotions.

Mrs Granger didn’t say anything for which Hermione was grateful. She didn’t want to hear that ‘he wasn’t worth it’ or ‘that she’d find someone else.’ Her mother just rubbed her arm, comforting her.

“I’m such an idiot,” Hermione continued with a sigh.

“You’re not an idiot, darling,”

“I am. I knew what I was getting into. And yet.” Hermione waggled her hands in exasperated gesture.

“Sometimes the heart is too strong for the head,” Mrs Granger said kindly and soothingly stroked a hand over her daughter’s thick hair. “Did I ever tell you about this boy I met while I was in Manchester? He worked in the milk bar near the residences. He was absolutely gorgeous. I mean jaw on the floor good looks, dumb as post though. We went out for a little while; could barely take our hands off each other –“

“Mum!”

“ – Sorry. Nice as it was, there was nothing in his head beyond football or Man City. Anyway, I caught him snogging one of the girls who worked in the student pub and apparently she hadn’t been the only one. I felt stupid, and cried for a week, though I knew it wouldn’t have worked between us. Even before Miss Scrag-Fest ’73 came along.” There was a bitterness in her mother’s voice that made Hermione smile.

“All I’m saying is that we all make mistakes, and It will get better,” Mrs Granger continued and gently squeezed Hermione closer to her.

It took Ron’s accidental poisoning for Hermione to rid of her thoughts of a certain pale boy with white-blonde hair. Hearing that Ron had nearly died had hurt her heart in a way she didn’t think was possible. Forbearing all of Lavender’s displeasure, Hermione had sat by Ron’s side in hospital and although not a particularly religious person, she prayed to whatever gods there were for Ron to survive. So, when Ron and Lavender broke up a few weeks later, Hermione was surprised to find herself quite happy by the news. The friendship bubble with Ron she was now happily living in, trying to ignore all outside influences was well and truly burst sooner than she hoped. No amount of logic would convince Harry to give up his pursuit of Draco’s doings, culminating in their duel in the bathrooms and Draco’s near death.

When Harry, ashamed, had told them how it had happened, Hermione had disguised her anguish by rounding on Harry, telling him to throw out that nasty Potions book. After the argument with Ginny, Hermione hurried up to the sixth-year girls’ dormitory and broke down, her body wracked with heavy sobs. She was inconsolable at the possibility that Draco could have been taken away from her forever. On top of her heartache, the whole school had been subjected to Pansy’s melodramatic distress at _her boyfriend’s_ condition. Hermione hated her even more, as there was no true emotion in Pansy’s performance, only enjoying the attention it afforded her.

As Hermione lay on her bed and curled up on top of the covers, she drew the bed curtains around her, so she wasn’t disturbed by the other sixth-year girls, interrupting her thoughts of either turning Pansy into a pig, or stabbing her between the eyes. Homicidal thoughts aside, she needed to see Draco, needed to make sure he was okay.

Late that evening, when her fellow dorm mates were asleep, Hermione cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself and snuck out of Gryffindor Tower. She wished she had Harry’s Invisibility Cloak rather than relying on her spell work, no matter how good it was. Quietly she made her way down the stairs to the hospital wing. The Castle made strange noises at night. Suits of armours quietly creaked; portraits on the walls snored and talked in their sleep; and there were the distant sounds of Peeves making a nuisance of himself in a classroom, where his night-time devastation would no doubt be discovered in the morning.

Hermione carefully opened the Hospital Wing door, screwing up her face in the hope it wasn’t going to creak too loudly and alert Madam Pomfrey to her presence. She peered in, looking for the occupied beds. The moonlight illuminated the cold dark room enough to see there was only one person in the ward tonight. Draco. She clutched to the stone jamb and held her lip between her teeth, watching him. He was lying still on his back, taking shallow breaths in his sleep. Every now and then one of the exhales was shaky as though he was still in pain from the way Harry’s spell had slashed open his chest and face. Ensuring Madam Pomfrey was not in her office, Hermione stole inside and sat down beside Draco’s bed. She put her hand on the bed close to his, not wanting to wake him up. The remnants of the _Sectumsempra_ were still lightly visible on his face, a thin line ran the length of his cheek.

She sat watching him, her insides churning with the mix of emotions, as well as the fear of being caught out of Gryffindor Tower in the middle of the night.

“I’ve tried to hate you, tried to understand why you wanted to hurt me,” she murmured, “You were pushing me away, wanting me to hate you because you’re too close to You-Know-Who, that he’ll kill you. Myrtle likes to talk and I can put two and two together.” She knew he wasn’t listening, but felt the need to explain how she had come to the conclusion.

“I wish you had talked to me. I’m worried what you’ve got yourself into.” Since their duel, Harry’s theory that Draco had given himself over to the Death Eaters was gaining credence with her. Yet, she was still optimistic, hoping it wasn’t true. There was one way to find out. Stealing herself, Hermione very carefully pushed up the sleeve of Draco’s pyjama shirt to just above his wrist. The head of a black inked snaked writhed on his skin and hissed at her.

“Oh God,” she whispered, covering her mouth with her hands in disbelief. “No, no. You can’t be.” Her immediate anxiety soon turned to concern and she wanted to comfort him. Gently she rested her hand on his. “What is he making you do?”

Hermione wasn’t sure how long she sat with him, until an owl loudly hooted outside the hospital window, startling her out of her dozing. Her hand was still holding Draco’s but he hadn’t stirred at all. He was still in the same sleeping position he was when she came in. Checking her watch, it was well after three.

“I have to go,” she murmured and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. There was a slight pressure in response around her fingers, but Draco appeared to bed fast asleep. Quietly conjuring a green apple, she put it on his bedside table and left.

Angry with herself, angry with Harry and generally angry with the world, Hermione stormed off to the library where she knew Harry and Ron wouldn’t follow unless under pain of death. She sat down at the desk in front of the old school yearbooks, and pulled an old one that listed all the class awards that had been given out over the years. One thing that always bugged her about Harry is that when he had a theory, he expected everyone to drop everything and just believe that he was right. When she had a theory – and usually she was correct – he dismissed her out of hand. And Ron always sided with Harry.

Researching helped take her mind off things. She flipped to the page that recorded all awards for Potioneering and ran her finger down the latest list of names. There was no Prince. And that annoyed her even more than Harry being right about Draco being a Death Eater.

She buried her face in her hands, her elbows on the table. Why did life have to been so stressful? If she hadn’t got her Hogwarts letter, she might have gone to a good Independent Muggle school, and as her Grandmother hoped, she might have been studying to be a dentist. Would it be so bad to forget about being a witch and go back to live in the normal world?

A subtle hint of apple floated past her and she looked up, glancing over her shoulder. There was a flash of white between the stacks. Hermione got up from he desk and hurried over. It wasn’t who she thought it was. She slumped and wandered back to the area where she had been, and bumped into someone.

“Watch where you’re going, Granger,” Draco spat from his position on the floor, having lost his balance and tripped over. He held his hand to his stomach and winced in pain. “Why are you always in my way?”

Hermione looked down at him, almost about to apologise, but stopped the words passing her lips. He looked dreadful, even more so when she’d seen him lying injured in the hospital wing. The momentary feeling of compassion she felt for him was lost with the sneer that descended upon his face.

“Whatever,” Hermione grumbled. She wasn’t in the mood for this. “You wanted me out of your life, I am. Go and be with your precious Death Eaters. Oh yeah, I know about that.” She pointed at his forearm. He flinched as though she had touched him. There was a momentary flicker of uncertainty in his grey eyes.

“You’re right,” he said with smug satisfaction, pulling his wand out and twirling it in his fingers. He leaned against the end of the bookshelf as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “He wanted me. I had a job to do, and it’s done. _Nearly_ done.”

“Bully for you,” Hermione snapped. “Do you want me to be proud of you? Afraid? Impressed? Tell me what you want from me, Malfoy.”

He paused for a second, looking her over. “I don’t want anything from you, _Mudblood_ ,” he replied coldly. The wand stopped twirling and he held it tightly, the hand shaking slightly.

“Then go away,” she said defeatedly. “Run off to Pansy.”

“Are you jealous, Granger?” he asked with a smirk.

“I said go away, Malfoy,” Hermione said and went to push past him, back to her desk, but he stopped her but taking a hold of her hand. The smell of blackcurrants and apple was strong. Of course, she was jealous. She still had fantasies of cursing Pansy across the breakfast table, but then most Gryffindors who knew Pansy had fantasies of doing that. “If you don’t let me go, I’ll curse you. And you know how good a witch I am. Regardless of my impure blood.”

“Hermione,” Draco fixed her with a look of such intense desperation that for a moment she forgot all together about being angry with him. He leaned forward, his mouth against her ear. “You need to get away. There are things you don’t understand.”

“Don’t tell me what I do and do not understand.” She tried to pull away again but there was no real force behind it. This was the closest they’d come to a conversation in months and no matter what he had done she still couldn’t ignore a chance to pull him out of all this.

“Just – just get out of here before something happens. I couldn’t live with myself if something…”

Just like that her anger returned. “Stop talking in half-truths and allusions. Tell me what you mean.”

Before she had the chance to say anything else he’d released her hand and just as quickly wrapped his arms around her in a fierce embrace and kissed her with all the passion he’d so cruelly insisted he’d never felt for her.

“I can’t be with you,” he said in a low, urgent whisper. “I can’t even think about you. It’s too dangerous. If they knew then they’d use it against me.”

The tension in his shoulders told her what she already knew. He wasn’t talking about his Slytherin friends but of an entirely darker group.

“Leave the Castle, get away from here tonight,” Draco whispered almost inaudibly. “Forget about me.” And then just as suddenly as he’d held her, he let her go, walking away. Hermione looked down in her hand and saw the pink gem earring that she had worn to the Yule Ball two years ago. She thought she’d lost it on the dance floor. At the time she was rather annoyed, she’d like those earrings, she had bought them specially to match her dress robes. Yet, he had kept it all this time. She turned around to see if Draco was still there, but he had gone.

That evening, the world turned on his head.

Hermione stood at the top of the Astronomy Tower and looked out over the landscape. The Castle was in mourning, lifeless as though the magic had been stripped from its walls. The three of them had made their plans for the summer, but Hermione had her own to make. First and foremost she had to keep her parents safe. Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes and let the sun warm her face, relishing this moment of peace. There would be difficulties ahead, there was a job to do, there was a world to fight for. A warm breeze caressed her skin, and her mind fell back to her last meeting with Draco, her breath against her ear. He was lost now, consumed by the Pureblood cause.

Her resolve not to cry over him broke as tears rolled down her cheeks. She heard footsteps behind her, but didn’t turn to see who it was.

“The train will be here soon,” said Ron. Tentatively he moved closer and gently touched her shoulder, to make sure she had heard. She nodded and sniffed.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his hand still on her shoulder as she turned to face him. Hermione looked at Ron, really looked at him. Her first real friend. There had been ups and down between them, but he was friendly and funny. Her bottom lip quivered and she shook her head. Tears spilled more freely and she cried heavily against his shoulder. Ron held her gently, softly soothing and rocking her.

***

Six months on the run and in hiding. Seven months since she had seen Draco. If Hermione had any feeling left for him, it had evaporated at Malfoy Manor. Sitting by the seaside at Shell Cottage had a balming effect. Her body smarted with the aftereffects of Bellatrix’s curse and knife. Her left arm pained her the most, and the wounds carved there itched and began to bleed again when she absently scratched them. She didn’t want to use Healing Magic on them, as they served as a reminder of Draco who stood behind his Aunt while Hermione was tortured.

Each scream that was ripped from her throat, she silently begged that he would help her. If he loved her, he would have saved her, protected her how he had promised. But he was nothing but a pureblood coward, hiding behind his name and position in the Dark Lord’s society. There had been a tiny ember of hope that lived in her heart, his indifference had extinguished it. She was glad she was out of that horrible Manor. How anyone could live in such dark surroundings and still have love in their heart was beyond her comprehension. Finally she could believe that it had all meant nothing to him, she was merely a playful diversion as he had told her. Out of her pocket, she picked out the pink gem earring. She had carried it around ever since Draco had returned it to her. She wrapped her fingers around it and then threw it into the sea.

The Room of Requirement was jam packed, full of junk. Everything from broken wands to failed magic experiments. Harry had suggested they split up to look for the diadem, the second last Horcrux. As Hermione walked down one of the precariously stacked aisles, she thought of the kiss she had just shared with Ron. It was nice and she knew Ron liked her. She wasn’t sure what had come over her. One moment she had a handful of Basilisk fangs in her arms, proud of Ron he had thought of going down the Chamber of Secrets to retrieve them, then surprising her even more by managing to speak Parsletongue well enough to open the Chamber. The next moment he had mentioned saving the House-Elves and she was in his arms, kissing him like the world was ending.

The taste of him was still on her lips as she turned another corner to look for the ugly bust Harry had described. His hair smelled nice, like something warm and homey one could curl up with on a cold winter’s day, something like hot chocolate and cinnamon, or warm spiced bun with melted butter. She smiled, enjoying a thought that didn’t involve he-who-she-didn’t-want-to-think-about-anymore, when the man in question stood before her.

“Hermione,” Draco said, his hand was wrapped around a wand that was down at his side.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded angrily. She held her wand up and directed it at his heart. He took a step back, knowing that due to her skilful spell work, she was capable of doing some serious damage.

“I saw the three of you come in here and I wanted to find you, to see if you were okay,” he replied in a small, scared voice.

“Okay? Okay?” she exclaimed but kept her voice down so the others wouldn’t be able to hear them. “How do you think that I would be okay?”

Draco looked pained and defying the wand pointed at him, took a step forward and reached out to her. Her face darkened and she flicked her wand hand. She didn’t cast anything, only wanting to frighten him.

“You stood by and watched while Bellatrix tortured me,” she sneered. Her jaw clenched down and her brown eyes blazed with hatred. She had never felt so angry at anyone before. This was more than being on opposite sides of the War. This was personal. This was someone who she had shared her most intimate moments with; someone she had trusted and cared for.

“And I’m sorry. But what could I do? Do you think Aunt Bella wouldn’t turn on me?” Draco whispered urgently. Quickly he glanced back over his shoulder, as though looking for someone.

“Aunt Bella,” Hermione scoffed. “Your precious _family_.” Her wand arm was steady, still aimed true at his heart. Draco swallowed nervously.

“Do it,” he whispered then stretched his arms out in surrender. “I’m a coward. I always have been. I wanted to be with you, but couldn’t. It was easier not to take the hard path with you. I wanted you to hate, to keep you safe.”

Hermione stared at him. “You managed one out of two,” she replied between clenched teeth, breathing heavily through her nose to calm the anger growing in her soul. There were many hexes and curses she wished to cast upon him, to turn him into the squelching slug he was.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. I still lo-.”

“Shut up,” Hermione said, cutting across him. “You don’t get to say that anymore. You broke my heart.” There were tears in her eyes. She hated how much he could still hurt her.

“It’s true. I never stopped. It ripped me apart to see Aunt Bella do that to you and I hated myself for not helping you.”

“No,” Hermione said determinedly, “I won’t fall for your lies again. Just leave. Leave me alone.” Her voice faltered and for a moment her wand dipped.

“Tell me what to do. Tell me how I can make it right,” Draco begged.

Hermione looked at him, remembering the first time they kissed; how she had pounced at him in the hallways outside the Library. All those clandestine meetings they’d had in this very room. The silken touch of his hair; the taste of apple on his lips. Apples were his favourite, especially the green ones. The intelligence hiding behind those grey eyes. The first time they had made love; it was awkward and tentative but he had held her afterwards and whispered how much he loved her. She could almost smell the blackcurrants and apple.

Tears threatened to fall and she blinked them away. “I – I don’t think you can.”

She walked away taking another random aisle to search for the diadem. She wiped at her eyes. She had to forget about him, she had to fight for her friends.

It wasn’t until she heard raised voices, Hermione realise how far she had walked through the labyrinth of secrets. Turning on her heel, she ran towards the sounds of Harry’s voice and he was with… Malfoy. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. She could do this. Harry was the one who was important. The diadem needed to be found and the Voldemort needed to be destroyed.

The dust had settled and a plan for the immediate future had been made. Harry, Ron and Hermione left the Head’s Office and stopped at the bottom of the moving staircase.

“I’m going to sleep for a week,” Harry said.

“Good plan,” Ron and he turned to Hermione. “Coming?”

Hermione blinked and looked at her best friends. They had had been through a lot and they had survived.

“I just need to do one thing first,” she said, and began the trip down to the Great Hall. She heard Ron’s half-whispered comment behind her. “Where the hell is she going?”

Hermione stepped back into the Great Hall, looking for the shock of white-blond hair she was hoping was still here. There in a corner was the Malfoy family. Draco sat next to his mother, the look on his face was unreadable. There was no emotion, apart from perhaps something that could be interpreted as relief. He glanced up from where his eyes were boring holes into the table and his appearance turned to delight. As he stood up his mother took a hold of his wrist and whispered something. Draco replied quietly, an assurance perhaps, as his mother loosened her grip and Draco walked over to where Hermione was standing. She overheard his father ask, “Where the hell is he going?”

“Hello,” Draco greeted, keeping three feet away from her.

“Hey,” Hermione replied. “Can we talk?”

They walked out of the Great Hall and into the debris strewn Entrance Hall, and took a seat on the lowest step of the broken marble grand staircase. Hermione looked at Draco’s face. There was a noticeable bruise forming on his cheek. His lip was split and the blood that had spilled out down his chin had dried to a deep burgundy. With his pale skin and dark sunken eyes, he looked like a vampire.

“Does it hurt?” Hermione asked. Draco shook his head. His eyes went to Hermione’s neck; there was a thin red line where Bellatrix’s knife had cut her. They sat in silence for a moment, both watching the large oaken doors to the Great Hall.

“You didn’t fight,” she said, finally breaking the silence between them.

“I didn’t want to die,” he replied simply. 

More silence fell between them. A couple of students walked out of the hall and saw Hermione and Draco sitting together on the stairs. They put their heads together and exchanged eager whispers before hurrying out of the main castle doors.

“So,” Draco said, “You said you wanted to talk.”

“I don’t know what to say now,” Hermione replied. “On the way down here, I had all these things I wanted to tell you or yell at you. But I’m just happy you’re alive.”

“I am sorry,” Draco said, finding the courage to look into her eyes. “For everything. I wish I had been braver. I didn’t want to do it. Not really.”

“I get it,” Hermione said, “Harry saw. He told us what happened after we escaped from your house. You did what you had to to survive. Even Percy said it was hard to get out of the Ministry.”

“Percy?”

“Ron’s brother.”

Draco nodded.

“I kissed him,” Hermione confessed and when Draco frowned in confusion, she added. “Ron.”

“Oh. Are you and him?” Draco asked as casually as he could, although Hermione could see that he was trying to keep his voice steady. He looked down at the floor.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “It’s different. He’s not you.” Hesitantly she raised her hand, wanting to touch his hair. There was a natural curl to it that he usually combed out, giving him the sweet, innocent appearance of a young boy, but his eyes told a different story. Hermione’s heart clenched. She wanted to look after him, to protect him; to help him through this new world, a world without the darkness he had been raised in.

“I’m going to testify, with my father. Anything we know about the Death Eaters,” Draco said with determination.

“But you’ll go to prison,” Hermione said with concern. Her eyes began to water. She tried to blink away the tears, but caused them to fall.

“Maybe. Maybe not. I guess we’ll see. Some people who turned informant last time were saved from Azkaban,” he said. “Father can’t lie his way out of it this time.”

Hermione reached over and put her hand on his, gently lacing their fingers together. He turned to face her and smiled sadly. She reached up and lightly touched the bruise on his cheek. He didn’t flinch away. Slowly they leaned into each other, until their lips met in a soft chaste kiss. Draco took a sharp breath in as his lip wound reopened.

“Sorry,” Hermione said, pulling back and watching fresh blood bead on his lips. She still had her wand, she touched it and silently cast, “ _Episkey_.” The split knitted and she carefully wiped the blood away.

“Thank you,” he murmured. She kissed him again, closing her eyes and pouring all that she wanted to say to him into it. It had been over a year since she had kiss him like this and it felt so natural. The smell of blackcurrants and apples filled her nose, masking the scent of dust, blood and death.

“Get your filthy hands off my son!” Lucius Malfoy’s voice filled the Entrance Hall.

Ignoring the interruption, they continued to kiss. Hermione could feel Draco’s mouth curl up into a smile against her lips. Mr Malfoy was not used to being ignored by his son and he yelled again.

“She is a Muggle-born. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The delicious perfect smell of blackcurrants and apples swirled around Hermione’s nose and they parted enough for Draco to answer. “Nothing.”


End file.
